


To The Grave

by 1Hist_Mary1994



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Grief, I made a history conspiracy while drunk on whiskey, M/M, Sad, this is entirely self indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:54:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25342033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1Hist_Mary1994/pseuds/1Hist_Mary1994
Summary: I made this while drunk on whiskey. I came up with a conspiracy that John Laurens' death was not by accident and that it had been planned. This is entirely self-indulgent. Please enjoy.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, William North (1755-1836)/Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben/Benjamin Walker (1753-1818)
Kudos: 2





	To The Grave

John felt like Death. 

That isn’t to say the Carolinian heat was doing it. He had been sick for weeks. The camp doctor had said malaria… he didn’t have long left. But if he could drive the British away from South Carolina, away from Charleston and back to their motherland, he would have no issue dying then. 

With every step his horse took in the foggy, humid morning light, John felt himself go a bit boneless. He looked around trying to see more than he was capable at the moment, trying to take in everything around himself; the sprawling rice fields, The river beside him, the water dark and warm, reflecting the light. As he stared at it his eyes hurt and he shut them briefly. He didn’t notice the movement beside him and his 50 men until it was too late. The first shot rang out and John startled, clumsily going for his saddle holster. His hand gripped the pistol, too slow, and pulled it from the holster. His horse was startled, moving restlessly. 

The men around him moved into action as he saw the frayed red of the British who had been foraging. 

No… That isn’t right… Greene’s missive said six miles down river… We’re only about three…

He was pulled from his thoughts as more shots rang out and suddenly his horse, a quick to startle brown mare, bucked him and then reared. He was graciously able to hold on, moving quickly to grip the reins and saddle tightly, keeping his legs pressed against the horse’s side. 

“Men, make ready with shot and bayonet!” John ordered. “Bleed them for-” He heard a shot ring out distantly as he shouted above the din and something hit him so swiftly in the chest he lost his breath. 

Out of reflex he let go of the reins as his horse reared again and he fell hard into the dirt. He struggled to breathe then, trying to take in air - breathe in, breathe out. But his lungs wouldn’t cooperate. He coughed trying to grab at anything on him that would cause the lack of breath. His hand came back wet. The battle, if a cowardly ambush could be called that, raged around him. His horse paced nearby, he could hear her hooves stamping into the ground and her snorts and nickers. 

Eventually, the world went a little more quiet, he was left in the dust. Going in and out of consciousness, he was aware of his coat being tugged at briefly, being rifled through. Something was pulled off of him. After that, he could feel the sun on him, beating down. The area was quiet, no one moved, there was no sound but birds and crickets and the river slowly flowing. 

“Laurens…?” A voice gently called, filled with hesitation and concern. 

John tried to respond, but air was still hard to take in, and it left him uttering up a weak, wet cough. He felt something spatter on his lips as he coughed. Blood. 

“Be still, my friend… Be still…” Tadeusz said gently, coming into view. He watched the dark haired Polish man kneel beside him. 

“I… I’m dying… Aren’t I…?” John let out. 

Tadeusz stared for a moment, before moving John’s head into his lap and then carefully pressing his hands against the chest wound. “What can I do to help you now…?” 

John was silent for a while. What was he supposed to say to those left? Martha was gone… Frances was in England… His father was in France... so were his siblings… 

Alexander… The General… They are in New York now…

“John…?” Tadeusz asked softly, trying to rouse him, get him to speak. 

His breath rasped wetly as he tried to take in air to speak. “Don’t tell them… Don’t tell them… it was like this… tell them… tell them it was… quick…” 

“Of course, my friend…” Tadeusz’s voice went thick then. “I swear to you, I will tell them what you ask…” 

“No… no one to write to…” John mumbled. “He’ll never… forgive me… for this…” 

Tadeusz slowly held his hair out of his eyes. John felt something wet under his fingers as he gripped at the dirt… Had he lost so much blood already? He was starting to feel numb…

“I’m right here, John… You aren’t alone.” Tadeusz said carefully. 

John tried to nod, but his body felt leaden and tired. He didn’t know if he was still talking. He didn’t know if he was still breathing. But soon the world went still, and he felt like he was falling asleep.

General Washington, 

It is with heavy heart that I report the death of Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens to you, killed in action during an ambush along the Combahee River. The Revolution has lost a great fighter, and he will be remembered among his Southern Brothers and Sisters and within the military in high regard. 

General Nathaniel Greene

Hamilton moved through the streets of New York, moving towards his office to get some work done. Like every morning, he bought a paper and read as he walked, skimming headlines and paying more attention to the roads and people around him as he moved than the paper. But something caught his eye. 

South Carolinian Officer Dead at Combahee

He stopped and saw the article was continued and moved with a quicker step towards his office, moving with renewed purpose as he did. 

“Oh, General. There’s mail here for you, sir.” The clerk said as he opened the door. 

“Thank you.” Hamilton said distractedly. He moved towards his office and saw the quick but familiar penmanship of his general sitting on top of his desk. His hands shook as he reached for it. He carefully touched his name sitting atop the envelope, feeling the indentations from the quill. Then slowly turned it over. Instead of the wax being red or blue, the seal was black. 

Hamilton felt bile rise up in his throat and swallowed it down thickly. There are plenty of officers in the South… Especially from South Carolina… hold yourself together…

He slowly broke the seal and read the first few lines. 

Maj. General Hamilton 

I regret to inform you of the passing of one of our Family, John Laurens. I have received word from Gen. Greene in South Carolina…

It was where Hamilton stopped reading, his head spun wildly and he felt sick. He felt his stomach heave at his breakfast, coffee and eggs, and he leaned over into the wastebasket, losing his breakfast and anything else left in his stomach. 

John can’t be dead. John can’t be dead. John can’t be---

The thought repeated itself several times. He was seeing things. It was a horrid joke to play. Yes… it had to be a joke. He had been reported drowned in the Schuylkill River back in 1777 - this was surely the same jest. Any moment now either Laurens himself would walk through the door and bemoan that he had taken this out of proportion or he would receive a letter. 

No… The General never gave false information to the Family. If Hamilton had received this letter, so had Harrison, McHenry, Tilghman, Meade… They would all know by now. John was dead. 

He’s dead… Oh, God… no please. Bring him back. He had so much left to do!

A strangled sound left Hamilton’s throat as he knelt on the floor, clutching the letter in his hand. He faintly heard the parchment crinkling, balling up in his fist. He then felt the tears through the shock, the sobs, the pain. He felt like his heart had broken. Was this what it was like to lose a part of one’s heart? 

He did not answer any knocks on his office door, he wasn’t aware of the time changing, moving along when he felt as if the world had stopped turning. He kept seeing those steel blue eyes, the blonde hair, the crooked smile upturned in amusement at a joke. Things he would never see in front of him again…

He was only aware something had changed when a slender hand slowly gripped his shoulder. 

“Alexander…?” A soft, gentle voice asked. 

He came to a bit of clarity and realized the windows and office had gone dark all save for a lantern held in the hand of someone beside him, in a long gown and walking cloak. 

“Alexander… speak to me…” The voice sounded more distant than it should. 

“He’s gone… He’s gone…” was all he could muster. He felt his body seize up in another heave at saying it, how the realization crashed on him. It was more final when he said it. No hope of a lie. 

The person knelt beside him and he was acutely aware of the smell of roses. Betsey. Eliza. She carefully took the hand that held the parchment and pried his fingers from the crumpled letter, taking it into her hand to read as she smoothed her hand carefully up and down his back as he sobbed. 

“Oh… Alexander… I’m sorry…” Her voice was small, raw, shocked. 

Alexander felt his heart shatter in his chest as she spoke. John Laurens was gone. He wasn’t coming back…

Alexander was suddenly aware of her wrapping him into her arms, holding him against her chest as he sobbed. His arms wound around her, trying to pull her closer, as if he was trying to not drown. He couldn't take in air, he couldn't think. John was gone. He sobbed against her cloaked shoulder as she held him and tried to calm him. 

He had told her all about John at points throughout the war and during their courtship and marriage; he had dreamed of the two meeting, of John being his best man at his wedding, of John meeting his son, of John coming to New York. Of John joining the government they were setting up to help build their new nation. 

"Alexander… Let me take you home…" Eliza's voice pleaded gently. 

Alexander stood on legs that had cramped and locked hours ago, that the joints cracked and felt stiff. She held him carefully as she rose too, keeping him steady. She took his personal belongings and walked with him carefully back to their house. 

Just as in the office, Alexander lost time. He didn't know how long he stayed in bed, but he couldn't leave the house, he could barely stomach Eliza's food, he would sob at the sounds of his son playing and laughing. But he didn't know how much time had been lost to him. 

He was inconsolable. When he did get up, he didn't make it far. He got to the small table in their room and wrote. He wrote so much and most of the time he destroyed the letters. Some had been for John, in fits of denial and sorrow, those he would burn in the fireplace. He tried to write to Washington. He tried to write to Greene. He tried to write to the Baron, their mentor and confidant. He tried to even write to Lafayette across the sea. But most he destroyed. He couldn't make sense of the words and the parchment and ink burned in the grate, never to be seen by living eyes. 

He supposed that was fitting. 

One morning, he left the bedroom after a sorry attempt of trying to clean himself up. He had shaved, washed himself, put on clean clothes. He was met by Eliza downstairs in the kitchen reading the paper and bouncing Phillip on her knee gently as she read. When she caught sight of him she gave him a patient, warm smile and gestured to him with the paper. 

"There's some news you'll want to read." she said softly. 

Slowly, Alexander took the paper into his hands. He slowly read over each headline. 

General Greene, Southern Hero 

He read the article, all of it stating how the British were completely evacuating Charleston. He swallowed thickly. 

John's name should be in this… 

"That's wonderful…" he let out softly. He felt Eliza lean into his side with Phillip and hold onto his hand. 

"Your friend would be pleased… His home is safe now." 

Alexander knew she meant well but it felt like his chest had ripped open. He nodded mutely and sat to eat, trying to stomach food that tasted no better than hardtack to him. He saw Phillip watching him and tried to smile for his son and soon enough pulled him into his lap, hugging the infant close. 

When Alexander finally got a letter to the general, he was informed that there would be a party held for Greene in New York while he awaited orders. Alexander couldn't say he was in much of a partying mood. But he did not turn down the invitation, knowing it would look bad since he was a major general after all. 

The party would be at West Point, at the headquarters there. What had come as tactless to Alexander was that it would be on John's birthday. He would have been twenty eight. Too young to die. 

He, Eliza, and Phillip all went to West Point and stayed with the general overnight. The next day, Alexander debated staying in bed. Debated not moving. How bad would it look should Eliza go down and claim he wasn't well…? The rest of the Military Family would be here. How would McHenry react? He might come up and see what was ailing him, no doubt. He refused to deal with that, so he dressed and got up, just as others arrived. He greeted friends and his brothers in arms. He struck up conversation as lightly as he could. No one seemed to mention John yet, and Alexander was sure when he was mentioned, if he even was throughout this sordid affair, he would collapse in tears. It felt empty without that tall figure taking up a door jam as he laughed or spoke, there were no blue eyes crinkled with amusement, softly powdered hair, or crooked smile. 

When Greene arrived with Tadeusz Kosciusko, Hamilton swallowed down the bile that threatened to come up, that had mixed with wine on his empty stomach. Tadeusz met his eyes from the doorway and gave a simple nod of acknowledgement, sympathy. His eyes said it all. Alexander nodded back and Tadeusz gave a faint smile in response. 

Greene greeted Washington with a salute and the two spoke. Alexander faintly heard the name Laurens and felt his stomach turn. As he stood there he felt a slender hand hold his arm steady and glanced to see Eliza beside him, her dark eyes looking up at him. Tadeusz approached. 

"Excuse me, madam, may I borrow your husband?" Tadeusz asked Eliza. 

At Alexander's nod, she smiled. "Of course, Colonel." She bowed her head respectfully and moved to Mrs. Washington. 

"Colonel Kosciusko, it's a pleasure to see you again. It's been since when, again?" 

"Probably Arnold's defection, the coward." Tadeusz smirked slightly. 

Alexander let out a short chuckle. "He's run off to England too… I wonder if they like him there."

"Doubtful." Tadeusz smiled. 

Alexander smiled faintly and realized John would have commented on this too. "Were you there…? When John…?" he couldn't finish the question. His throat tightened uncomfortably and he felt his eyes burn and resisted blinking knowing if he did the tears would come. 

"I… I was there after… It had been quick." 

Alexander could tell he was lying. "Tadeusz, please… I only want the truth." 

"My friend, I give it freely…"

"You aren't. You're holding back. Remember, both John and I were in charge of spy rings." Alexander whispered. "Please, tell me. He was dearest to me in this world." 

That admission is dangerous. 

Tadeusz was silent for a moment. "I was with him… when he passed. He… He had been left behind. He couldn't… couldn't breathe." Tadeusz went into his pocket and pressed something into Alexander's hand carefully. "This was his last missive. The British force was supposed to be six miles downriver…" 

"Supposed to be?" Alexander asked, not unfolding the note. 

"They were only three miles from their camp." 

The realization hit like ice. Alexander slowly looked down at the paper, dried blood stained the edges and he fought down the urge to be sick. He slowly unfolded it. 

British Forces. Six miles downriver. Foraging party. Lightly armed. 

Alexander read it quickly. "What missive were others given?" 

"I do not know. I was not in his troop. I traveled with General Gist." Tadeusz told him. 

Alexander slowly nodded and folded the paper. "Do you… Do you think he was murdered? That this had been planned…?" 

"I do not wish to pass judgment on that…" Tadeusz said uneasily, eying Greene quietly. 

Alexander looked towards Greene then, speaking to Washington. His Excellency appeared grief stricken as he listened. "Where was he buried?" he asked. 

"He was buried at the Stock's plantation…" Tadeusz whispered. "I and my men took him ourselves. They allowed their plot to be used and we gave him a marker…" 

Alexander's stomach twisted. He hadn't even been taken home! 

"Thank you… for helping him in his final moments…" Alexander whispered. 

Tadeusz nodded and put a hand on his shoulder carefully before moving away. 

Alexander watched him move and approached the conversation happening between Washington and Greene. They were talking about the end of the southern campaign, how they were pushing the British completely out of South Carolina. Alexander patiently waited to speak to His Excellency as Greene spoke. 

Finally, Greene bowed once again and then leveled Alexander with a look. He stared up at the general and felt no fear. No respect. Just contempt. Why send a missive that stated six miles? The foraging party wouldn't travel that far inland again. John's last letter had stated that the British were leaving the backcountry. 

"I will leave you to your aide, Your Excellency." Greene stated before moving. 

Alexander immediately bristled. He was a Major General! He felt a strong, large hand land on his shoulder. 

"What did you need, son?" Washington asked, as if knowing Alexander was a powder keg about to explode in both grief and rage. 

Alexander looked up at the general and sucked in a breath. It was hard to breathe… "There seems to be something amiss about John's death, Excellency." Alexander said quietly. "I do not believe his death was some… Ill fated casualty of war. John may have been reckless but he wasn't foolish enough to walk into a foraging party that was armed."

"It was an ambush, Hamilton. They were in the backcountry, where they knew the risks…" 

"John's missive says six miles downriver and the foraging party was only…" 

"Enough." Washington's tone came out quiet. Measured. Dangerous. "Do not look for conspiracy when there is none. Have we not dealt with enough conspiracy during the war? In camps? With cabals and attempts and defections?" 

Hamilton was silenced for a moment. He considered dropping it. But if he had died similarly, would John drop this? Would he not argue?" Sir, please… " he tried only to have Washington hold up a hand and then move away. He felt his blood boil then. He felt constricted in this suit, he wanted to run outside and let out yells and screams in rage. He had kept his grief silent thus far. The time for it was ending. 

He tried to seek out the Baron but the older Prussian was currently conversing with Tadeusz, both speaking a tongue they had in common. Alexander knew that the Baron knew Polish so it was no shock to him to hear the foreign language. He didn't approach their conversation, nor did he approach Eliza and Mrs. Washington. He felt so oddly out of place here, with the people he had fought beside for nearly six years. His stomach was a mess of knots and felt like it was filled with writhing snakes. He grabbed another glass of wine as he tried to steady himself. 

"Hamilton. I am surprised you left Albany or the city." 

Alexander immediately knew Greene's voice. He hadn't truly minded the man before. They had worked hard together when the Baron had come to Valley Forge. Greene was also a tactical genius… Unless he was the man who had led John to his premature fate. 

"General Greene. A pleasure. I hope the heat of the south agreed with you." 

"I dare say it has. Especially since the British have now fled it in droves." Greene said, and he seemed to puff up with a pride Alexander could only describe as sickening. 

"I suppose I should congratulate you on your victory. If only Laurens were here to celebrate it with us." his tone came out sharp, venomous. 

Greene was silent for a moment as if considering a response. But Alexander wanted to take it as a dismissal. As he turned to leave, Greene cleared his throat. 

"Yours forever." Greene said, his voice quiet.

If it hadn't been directed towards him, he might have missed it. "I beg pardon, sir?" 

"It is quite a declaration to put at the end of a letter, is it not?" Greene asked, raising an eyebrow carefully. 

"I suppose it would be. It would be used in reference to a wife or a courted lover." he said shortly. 

"Quit your sword, my friend, put on your toga." Alexander felt the blood drain from his face as his own letter was recited to him, even in such a short sentence. 

"He deserved Congress." his own whisper came out choked and raw, as if he had been strangled suddenly. His cravat felt so tight around his neck, like a noose. 

"And you are the one who signed on his death. Yours forever." Greene let out a short chuckle. "You've become such an untouchable force, next to our dear Commander in Chief. No one would believe an accusation of sodomy. But Lieutenant Colonel Laurens resigned his post as a son to Washington and went south. But his accusation would be met with offense from Laurens Sr."

"You planned this… You had him walk right to Death…" 

"So he couldn't be branded a sodomite in life. But should you pursue your conspiracy, the world will know your sins. Yours and his. And your poor son will forever know his father as a sodomite who hid under the cover of his wife's skirts…" 

"Do not speak of Eliza…" 

"Take your letter, Hamilton." Greene didn't leave room for a verbal argument. He handed him the letter with the broken wax seal. "And take care to limit your conspiracies. Especially as you go into Congress. The army was more forgiving towards you. Politics will not be." Greene then moved away without another word. 

Hamilton held the letter in his hands. It felt like he was burning hot and frozen solid. He couldn't breathe. His blood rushed in his ears and he moved outside, trying to take in air, trying to not pass out. 

You are the one who signed on his death. 

Alexander sat on the hard, cold ground and struggled to breathe. He loosened his cravat and let it hang open and untied around his neck. He felt hot tears stinging his eyes as he sat in the cooler northern New York breeze. The sky was already darkening. He sat there looking out over the water of the Hudson River, trying to calm the way his heart was thundering in his chest and the way his chest made it too tight to breathe. 

"You walked out quickly, ja?" The deep, heavily German accented baritone met his ears so suddenly that he jumped and swiveled around to look at the Baron who stood behind him. 

"Baron… Forgive me, sir. I did intend to speak with you… You seemed deep in conversation with Colonel Kosciusko." Alexander let out. He moved to stand and the Baron waved him down again so Alexander stayed seated. 

"I figured a party would not be the place to hold such conversations. I have lodging in Peekskill for tonight." he handed Alexander a paper with the address for the inn. 

Alexander took the small slip of paper and nodded mutely, almost grateful for this gesture. 

"I will see you inside. I assume the food will be better than it had been while encamped in winter." The Baron tried to infect some humor and Alexander felt himself give a watery chuckle at the attempt. 

The Baron placed a careful hand on his shoulder and then moved back inside. Alexander watched him go and stuck the slip of paper in his pocket. He'd have to talk to the Baron before they all left for their usual housing. 

He soon tied and straightened his cravat and moved inside, composing himself. He saw Eliza waiting for him as she held Phillip. 

"Are you alright? If this is too much, I'm sure there would be no objections to us retiring for the night." 

"I'm fine, my dear. I promise."

"What did General Greene need before?" 

"Ah…" It had been the question he feared her asking. "He merely wanted to give me his condolences. He knew John and I were close." he said carefully.

Eliza regarded him carefully and then nodded, taking the answer silently. Alexander was glad she did. 

They soon sat through the entire dinner. The Baron had been right in his jest about the food, and it was a relief to have food that was better than it had been in the army. Even after resigning, their meals had been simple. But at least they were more edible than the meager meat or fish rations and hardtack of the army. It was nice to eat something richer for a change. 

Conversation carried easily throughout the dinner. Conversation came easily enough from his fellow former aides and from the Baron and others he was relatively close to. It had been an easier night to stomach if he didn’t have to focus on Greene’s words or the lack of John’s presence. And he didn’t for a while, until Washington stood and made a toast. 

“As tonight should not only be a celebration of victory, it should also be a memorial to a fallen brother and friend. To Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens, may his soul find peace, knowing the South is free and that the war will soon end.” 

There were agreeing mumbles and raised glasses around the table from everyone present. Hamilton was the only one to raise his glass silently and drink from it. He could feel eyes on him, and glanced to see Eliza and a few other of his closest friends staring at him. He felt like he was completely under scrutiny for his attitude towards this tragedy, towards loss. He looked down at his plate, choosing to say nothing. Hopefully, the scrutiny would end. He would be left alone and not worry about what people thought. 

The Army was more forgiving towards you.

By the time the dinner ended, and most guests had left for their respective lodging, Hamilton moved to the room he was sharing with Eliza and put on a more worn out coat. 

“Where are you going?” 

He turned to see her holding a sleeping Phillip, she was still dressed but her hair had been let loose down her back. 

“I’m going to visit the Baron, it’s not another party and I’ll be back soon. Don’t worry.” He smiled faintly. 

“You seem distressed is all.” Her tone was gentle, quiet. 

Hamilton smiled ruefully. “I suppose it’s to be expected…” The letter felt heavy in his waistcoat pocket. It felt like lead, like it could burn a hole right through him. 

You are the one who signed on his death.

“I’m sorry… that you’ve lost such a close friend.” She said softly. There were times that Alexander was still a mystery to her, especially in moments like these. Instead of it all being out in the open, able to be seen and picked apart, he had closed himself off and become secretive. 

He approached her slowly, kissed her forehead and then Phillip’s cheek and smiled before leaving, not commenting on her condolences. 

He took a horse towards Peekskill and found the inn. When he got there, he wasn’t surprised to see both North and Walker outside, speaking. He approached and then greeted them, leading him inside. 

“The Baron informed us you’d be coming.” Walker said, a hand landing on Hamilton’s shoulder. 

“I thought it might be good to talk to a mentor that might… understand.” He said as they went up to the Baron’s rooms. 

They nodded slowly in understanding. 

"You weren't at the party…" Hamilton let out. 

"No. We figured we would allow senior officers to have their fun. We thought drinking and telling stories would be far more entertaining." North gave a smirk, and Hamilton realized while they had worked together, he did not know much more about them other than their close proximity to the Baron and their intelligence in speaking German and French so fluently. 

"I see…" Hamilton tried to smile. It felt like the letter was setting his skin on fire. He had thought to bring it as proof to the Baron. That there was a conspiracy. But would the Baron easily listen? Or would he stop the motion like His Excellency had? 

Walker knocked on a door and a gruff baritone bid them enter in German. Hamilton knew that word well enough and followed the two of the men into the room. 

"Do you mind the extra company as we speak?" the Baron inquired, gesturing to North and Walker. 

Hamilton glanced at them, Walker, with his pale hair and dark eyes and North who was more olive in tone and dark of hair. He shook his head; they knew as much as the Baron did of him and John. "No, sir." he said. The formal rigidness stayed in his posture. 

"At ease, Alexander." The Baron attempted to smile, tried to encourage him to relax into the conversation. 

Alexander sat in the chair across from the Baron. He moved to pull the missive and letter from his pocket, he may not see the blood yet, but to him he could imagine it in his hand - wet, warm, could imagine the sound of John struggling to breathe, bleeding out beside a river he had never seen. He heard his own breath force itself out of his lungs as if from a distance and the Baron held up a hand as if warding back Walker or North behind him. 

"Take your time, please." The French that the Baron spoke was fluent but gruff, the tone was patient and slow, calm - familiar from when he had worked with John in the Baron's headquarters. There was no rush. 

"He is dead… Because of me…" Alexander heard himself say. His words felt like nails, ripping his throat apart. "I was foolish… I was too open… I exposed him… I made him vulnerable…" the sobs came then, tearing at his chest, like a monster trying to claw out, like a hurricane ravaging an island. He struggled to take in breath. 

He felt a hand grip his shoulder, a gesture meant to be comforting had him pushing the person off without looking. The give to them told Hamilton it was not the Baron, the gasp was too high in sound, and another noise made him look up, a thud. Walker had fallen back from the force, onto the floor. He looked up at Hamilton, eyes wide and dark, shocked. 

Alexander felt an anger rage in him from it. That simple gesture meant to be comfort had felt like gross pity and he recoiled from. It. "You have no idea…! You don't know the pain I feel!" he was on his feet in moments. 

The Baron sat, expression impassive, in the chair across from him, watching silently. Walker slowly stood, helped up by North, none of the men looked away from Hamilton. 

"I killed him! I signed in his death! I am a fool!" he nearly yelled. He threw the letter and missive to the ground. North's face lost color seeing the dried blood on it. Laurens’ blood. "I wrote to him so openly! I declared love and visions of a future we could build, if not together in name together as colleagues! As partners! I exposed him to hate! I pushed him to death…!" The sobs tore at his chest again and he felt himself shudder with it, his hand gripping his waistcoat tightly. Once again, the cravat felt like a noose, too tight around his neck. 

"I made myself untouchable beside Washington, not thinking John would ever face this scrutiny, this… Prejudice!" he let out, his voice loud, cracking on the sob that had lodged in his throat. 

He heard a chair scrape on the floor and shied from the footfalls. But the Baron only stooped to pick up the letter and missive carefully. He opened the missive first. Hamilton waited, unable to breath. 

"Six miles… Mein Gott…" The Baron mumbled. Alexander said nothing. 

"Sir…?" North asked, his tone careful, treading on eggshells in the tense room. 

"Greene's missive said three miles…" von Steuben said in French, the tone disbelieving. 

Alexander felt his heart stop. It had been planned… John's death had been planned. He might have been here today if not for Greene! He couldn't find his voice. He couldn't speak for fear that he'd collapse. The anger left him in a rush. 

"What do we do? If it was a planned disregard of orders, of rank…" 

"Greene could not legally do this… A trial… Court martial for the murder of a senior officer..." 

The Baron held up a hand. The room was silent, and all Alexander could hear was himself breathing as the Baron opened the letter and read it silently. As the older man read, he sat back in his chair, his eyebrows furrowed as his eyes slowly took in the English words, the language he struggled with most. But he did not ask Walker or North to translate, nor did he ask Alexander to read it. 

Hamilton felt like his stomach had turned, his legs and hands shook, his organs felt like lead and his heart hammered so fast and quick he was sure everyone in the room could hear it. 

"Were other letters read? From between you?" 

"Non…" he mumbled, his throat dry as sand. "Not that I know of…" 

The Baron slowly folded the letter, he kept the missive but handed the letter back to Alexander. 

"The letter is not enough to convict…" The Baron said. 

"But the missive…" 

"It cannot come out…" 

"Sir, to condone a murder…!" 

"Greene had him executed!" 

"John would have wanted justice, like he sought out…!" 

"Genug!" von Steuben's voice rose, the guttural German now a command rather than the quiet, patient tone. Enough. Silence. He saw the three men watching him. "It will not do to make an enemy of other generals. To force conspiracy.'' The French was spoken softer, once he had the men's attention on him. 

Alexander sat in the chair. John wouldn't get justice… He stared at the letter in his hand. He stared at John's name, as if willing him back to life. 

"Alexander. This will go with you to your grave." 

Alexander's head snapped up and he looked at the Baron. The statement was shaking, but the man's eyes held sorrow and understanding. He was sure the Baron had his own secrets that would follow him to the grave as well. 

“Nothing said will ever leave this room.”

Alexander nodded wordlessly. He felt something tap his fingers. He saw the missive. 

“Take it. Hide it. Burn it. But it cannot see the light of day again.” 

Alexander once again nodded, taking the paper with shaking hands. He slowly stood and bowed to the Baron. He looked towards Walker and offered a quiet apology for shoving him away, and to North as well. 

True to Baron von Steuben’s word, no word of that night left that room, even when he met his Maker on November 28, 1794. 

Walker and North stayed silent, and never spoke of John Laurens or the night in Peekskill again. They remained amiable with Alexander Hamilton for the rest of their lives. 

Alexander Hamilton hid the missive, hid his letters speaking of love and devotion to his Dear Laurens. He kept with his secrets. His conspiracy. He led America into its new government, commanded its armies, built up banks. He made mistakes and tried to defend them. 

And in death, after a duel - with a wound that should have never happened - both physically and against the last friend he had, he hoped to meet John Laurens once again on the other side.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading


End file.
